


art for art's sake

by taeminki



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: Minghao wants to bloom for Mingyu.





	art for art's sake

**Author's Note:**

> ♪ bloom -troye sivan

Kim Mingyu first met Xu Minghao in the busy streets of Seoul. They happened upon each other outside of a store, where they both stopped to look at the pretty flannel jacket on display. Mingyu mused, gently, "It's pretty, isn't it?" and he wouldn't have if Minghao wasn't so immediately breathtaking. No one Mingyu encountered had a visual appeal like Minghao-- the delicate length of his brown hair, the wink of his brown eye, the glint of his white smile -- not to mention the grey of his fashion and the colorful expression of his accessories. Furthermore, the shy of his greeting and the depth of his jokes; Minghao was beautifully captivating, and Mingyu wasted no time in getting to know him.

Exactly seven months later, Mingyu and Minghao found each other in front of the same display-- except, this time, it was on purpose. They had planned to meet there earlier in the day for another of their countless dates, in which most of their time was spent snapping pictures in dressing rooms and in front of flower shops. The two of them had quite the social media following individually, but it blossomed even further upon making their relationship official. The pictures weren't for the attention, though; they were for the aesthetic-- a term Mingyu had coined childish before he met Minghao. (It was one he quite cherished, now).

They went well together, Minghao and Mingyu. From the get-go, their bond was so pretty. It teased between playful, puppy love and deep-seated romance, which balanced perfectly into the unique kind of relationship each of them needed. It was the kind of relationship Mingyu never knew he craved, and the kind of relationship Minghao had been waiting his entire life for (though, Mingyu wouldn't come to find _this_  out until later on).

Minghao had his reasons, pining for someone like Kim Mingyu to come into his life. One particular reason was his passion; he loved photography and art, though he didn't play the part of the latter. He was a writer instead, "which _is_ an art form, as well," Minghao would always say. (Mingyu wouldn't hesitate to agree; if he had a way with words like Minghao did, he didn't think he would ever complain again -- and if he _did_ , it would be eloquent and communicative.)

No one Minghao knew before Mingyu could reach an artistic level as high as he could. No one had such an eye or a passion for aesthetics. (Even Mingyu didn't realize the eye he had for it until Minghao brought it out of him; and never before had he seen such a beauty in yellow, nor did he realize how pretty blues and greys were together. He never knew the appeal of seeing a backdrop match its particular scene before Minghao. He never knew the confidence that came with dressing in tune with his personality-- _until Minghao_.) No one else would let Minghao pause them in the midst of their meal or their walk to snap a picture; and no one would bring Minghao the same level of comfort as Mingyu, to post the pictures paired with a poetic saying based upon his particular mood. Minghao would feel far too shy with anyone else, far too vulnerable.

With Mingyu? He could be himself.

With Mingyu, he could hand over his phone as he lay himself down on a set of dark, concrete stairs with a request to take a picture, and he could trust Mingyu to tell him where to move and to catch him at a good angle. He could trust himself to caption the post with something as pretty and personal as _play me like a love song_ , with appropriate credits (a small note, _taken by @min9yu_k_ ) and delicate emoticons. Only Mingyu could make him feel like that; and only Mingyu could make him comfortable enough to share it.

 

Minghao had never gotten this far into a relationship before. Of the three he'd had before Mingyu, they only made it four months, six months, eight months. Based on the pattern of his relationship archive, Minghao started to get paranoid around the ten-month mark with Mingyu. He took his concerns to the only constant in his life-- Wen Junhui-- with half his nails bitten to the pad of his finger and nervous tears about his eyes. Junhui pulled him in, held him soft, told him quick, "You don't have to be so nervous. Mingyu loves you, and I can tell you love him so much more than you loved your exes. Trust me."

Ten months became a year before any of them knew it, and Minghao's heart felt so special when Mingyu brought him an anniversary gift-- a simple, pretty sketch of Minghao from that night on the stairs. Minghao cried, though he didn't burst in front of Mingyu. He cried in the bathroom when Mingyu fell asleep, happily looking at the sketch. He was lucky, he thought. He was more than lucky--to have Kim Mingyu in his life.

Minghao snuck back into the room and tucked the drawing away. He lay with Mingyu and slipped their fingers together comfortably. The lamp was still on, for Minghao had been writing as Mingyu fell asleep; and Minghao took advantage of the light to snap a picture-- his hand fitted to Mingyu's over white sheets. With one hand, he flicked off the lamp; and, with one hand, he typed out a caption to the picture: _promise me you'll hold my hand if I get scared_.

Minghao slept easy that night, with his chest tucked against Mingyu's back, with his arm over Mingyu's waist.  
Minghao slept easy that night, with Mingyu.

 

 

 

 _take a trip into my garden,_  
_I've got so much to show you_

Minghao was thankful for the capacity of the brain, to hold memories that cameras failed to capture. Minghao would regret it if he couldn't replay the scenes of the day in his head--if he couldn't re-imagine the way Mingyu's hands held him by the waist and the small of his back, the way Mingyu tilted him and kissed his neck. With only the two of them around, no one could take pictures of those moments--but Minghao's mind had a memory for Mingyu, and he would be reminded of those moments upon seeing the pictures he _could_  take-- of Mingyu holding his lips to a flower, of Mingyu dipping his fingers into a fountain. Mingyu's lips would remind him of the tickle against his neck; Mingyu's fingers would remind him of the hold on his back. Minghao stared at the pictures, and thought of inviting Mingyu over. He wanted to feel Mingyu's lips again-- and his hands, and he wanted to explore the rest of him, too.

Minghao was a little tense upon calling Mingyu-- a little shy, a little unsure. Mingyu was calm as he answered the phone, and amused at the way Minghao took a moment to say, "Do you... want to come over? You can-- stay, if you want."

"Give me about an hour? I'm almost done with this painting. I can bring dinner?" Mingyu suggested, and Minghao liked that. Minghao prepared a bit for Mingyu to come over-- cleaned up, set his living room pretty. He took his time, but rushed to make sure he was done in time for Mingyu. He was without a shirt when Mingyu knocked; and he rushed to put a sweater on, and open the door for Mingyu.

He was presented with a flower and a smile; and Minghao took the flower to his chest and pulled Mingyu in to kiss him. Mingyu was ten minutes early, and he brought take-out. Minghao wondered, "Did you finish your painting?" to which Mingyu nodded; and when Minghao asked how he had time to get dinner, Mingyu told him, "I ordered it on the phone, picked it up a couple minutes ago."

"You had time to get me a flower, too." Minghao noted, looking at the yellow rose in his hand. Mingyu shrugged, "I was right there-- I thought I would bring you something special."

"Dinner wasn't special enough?" Minghao wondered; again, Mingyu shrugged. The two of them sat to eat, and talked about art-- Mingyu's painting, Minghao's poems. Mingyu mentioned Minghao's caption paired with the earlier pictures were so beautiful; he told Minghao he had such a way with words. Minghao wondered if Mingyu understood the allegorical captions, the way his comment section seemed to. Mingyu didn't allude to knowing, and while Minghao felt less vulnerable, at that, he thought he might not mind if Mingyu did know. He might be less shy if Mingyu had the knowledge, and made the first move.

"Where are your glasses? Those yellow ones." Mingyu said suddenly. Minghao had to think for a moment; his thought brought him to his bedroom-- the shelf of his closet, and he brought them down. He took them to Mingyu, and he wondered what Mingyu might want with them when he took them from Minghao's hand. He unfolded the legs like he was going to put them on, and he did--on Minghao.

"Phone?" Mingyu asked, and Minghao handed it over, a smile blossoming on his lips as he realized Mingyu's intent. He pulled his legs onto the couch, crisscrossing them; he faced Mingyu. Mingyu placed the thornless rose over his ear, and positioned the glasses a bit further down the bridge of his nose. He told Minghao, "Smile," and Minghao did, closing his eyes and shrugging up his shoulders. He felt... pretty--and he'd never felt _pretty_  before. He heard the click of his phone's camera and he felt the soft brush of Mingyu's fingers against his jaw-- then, the soft press of Mingyu's lips against his. Minghao held his smile back until Mingyu's lips had left his. Mingyu handed Minghao's phone back to him, and told him, "Send me that, okay?"

Minghao posted the picture with the caption: _I'll bloom for you, by @min9yu_k_. It was getting easier and easier, lately, to think of the words to post.

 

 

 

Their dates weren't always inside. There were countless times Mingyu took Minghao outside-- for a simple walk, through the garden, to get takeout together. They always returned home at the end of the night, though-- to Minghao's place, or to Mingyu's. Soon, they planned, to have one place to return to; but they had things to figure out, items to move, rent to establish. It would take some time before one of their homes became both of their homes, and the other was taken out of their name.

Mingyu was in a mood tonight, in which he didn't want to go home too early. He was feeling abstract and free; he and Minghao walked through lighted side streets and kissed against the bricks. They were, perhaps, too dressed up for the night; Minghao might not still need his tinted glasses, and Mingyu could surely do without his long coat, but they went out with the intention to take pictures. Mingyu had his camera in his hand; Minghao had his around his neck, and they were walking hand-in-hand to find a spot to pose against. They found several-- under street lights and in front of restaurants.

"You seem tired," Mingyu muttered softly. He and Minghao were standing on the sidelines of a quiet street, and Mingyu had taken to holding Minghao. He had moved Minghao's camera from his front to his back, which meant the strap was pressing into the front of his throat at an odd, but not uncomfortable pressure. Mingyu's arms were around his waist, resting at the small of his back. His lips moved against Minghao's hair, and moved to kiss his forehead, too. Minghao found himself burrowing in Mingyu's chest-- cheek against collar, shoulders shrugged up against him. He wasn't tired. He was comfortable. He was excited. His heart was beating because he knew Mingyu was going home with him tonight, and he felt ignited.

"Do you want to go home?" Mingyu asked. Minghao nodded, and they were off. No more pictures were taken for the night--but Minghao had already gotten his post for the day. It was a picture of Mingyu, when Mingyu was pointing a camera at _him_. He had caught the picture perfectly before Mingyu realized what he was doing, and broke his pose to laugh. Minghao had, of course, taken another picture as he was laughing; and, again, captured him perfectly. Minghao posted the snapshots together, deciding they couldn't be apart.

 _it's the perfect season,_  
_let's go for it this time_

 

Minghao didn't like heat. He much preferred the cold, in which he could get _warm,_ but not _hot_. When he went home, though, and Mingyu finally lay him down -- that's when he felt it. He felt the heat that everyone talked about. It fired through his entire body, and with each touch of Mingyu's lips, or hands, or hips, it only intensified.

The night reinforced the idea Minghao had and Junhui told him, that he'd never loved anyone more than he'd loved Mingyu. He'd never felt this much romance, and he'd never felt _this way_. He could hardly even describe it; but he had his poetic thoughts, and ideas -- and when he took a picture of his and Mingyu's hands, again, intertwined over the sheets, he found the perfect words.

 _I've been saving this for you_.


End file.
